O Fortuna
by Vitreus Rose
Summary: [Post AC] The Planet has one more task for the weary Cloud Strife: to ensure that the Crisis never happened. In progress
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing, nor have I anything witty to say.

The children had left, Avalanche had left. Left him to himself. Left him to his church, to his flowers. His dead gardens to tend. His story was over. _Hadn't it been over two years ago?_ The flowers that he'd kept as memory of their previous owner were dead. _Buried under water just like she was, those years ago, hadn't it been he who let her go, let her float gently downwards?_ Left to bring his thoughts to the living. Left to remain with those he'd saved. Left to tend his now dead gardens. From the wooden beams a drop of water fell, hitting him on the top of his head. Aerith had been there. Aerith had saved him, not once, but twice. If not for Aerith, he wouldn't have defeated Bahamut, might not have been able to defeat Sephiroth if everything before that hadn't been as it was. Had she not cured Jenova's taint on his body, he could not have faced Sephiroth and walked away.

Aerith had saved the children, not he. Once again, he wasn't the real hero here. _But you're okay with that, aren't you?_ He'd never been the real hero. Zack was, Aerith was. It came as no surprise to Cloud that he wasn't a real hero. He'd pretended to be, once, aspired to be, once. No longer did he wish so. There was no part of playing the hero that appealed to him any longer. Zack was dead, as was Aerith. When Cloud had tried to play hero, he'd gotten dragged across four continents, molested, harrassed, stabbed, mindfucked, and nearly killed more times than he could count. The life of a hero lost its shine sometime around Nibelheim when the Masamune ran him through in the reactor, he figured. Why he'd continued the charade five years later, he'd never understood.

He didn't need to be a hero, though. Not in this world where the children had laughed happily in the water, their feet standing in the remains of the white and yellow blossoms. Not in the world where sunlight percolated down into the church over the soaring balustrades, no upper plate to restrict the glow that bounced off the healing waters. The soft sounds of people in the city outside didn't come in through the old stone walls, and there Cloud stood, surrounded by the sunlight and the water, and the remains of his _her_ flowers. What sort of world was this, with Jenova destroyed, with her Remaining parts destroyed. With Sephiroth gone. _But not just a memory.__ Not a memory. But what?_

His shadow would not live on, not darken the Planet. _Wouldn't it?_ Jenova was gone. _So sure?_ Humans could finally rebuild without fear of Meteor, could be certain that the ground they walked on wouldn't be destroyed by anything other than another human or a monster. They could breathe again. _Maybe._ Everything would be all right. In the church of Midgar's slums stood the Planet's saviour. The world would continue, the people would live. What place was there in this post-apocalyptic world for a not-hero? _Sephiroth would have done it better._

Too bad The General hadn't been the hero. Cloud let his eyes drift over the wreckage of the already ruined church. In his eyes lay a world where Aerith wasn't dead, where Geostigma hadn't killed children. Where Zack hadn't needed to die so close to freedom. He closed his eyes, letting the concept run through his mind, tasting it, running it over with his thoughts like tasting a fine wine. Perhaps a world where Sephiroth had never been perverted by Jenova. Maybe even a world where he would never have the chance to experience her lies, where it all ended long before it started. A world that had not tasted the sharp acrid fear of Meteor looming painfully in the sky. What a world, a world where Sephiroth had not lived. Jenova would have been powerless in her tank, Hojo merely one man, albeit an insane one. Such a world, where the greatest evil was ShinRa. The greatest evil was man's own creation. A world that wasn't still picking itself back up from the crisis.

Cloud didn't know how long he'd stood there, except that the slow banking warmth of his own daydream played through a tired, battered body. Perhaps it was cruel to think such thoughts, cruel to dwell on a present that might never be, an altered past, an impossible future. Cruel to himself, cruel to the world as it was. He could live with this world, he thought, perhaps. _What place was there in this post-apocalyptic world for a not-hero?_ Perhaps he could find peace at heart. But still the idea of his impossible daydream called a siren's voice in his wounded heart. Aerith and Zack need not be ghosts. So many people need not have died. _My family! My hometown! How could you do this to them?_ All the pain and suffering of the world right now that had been brought about by the crisis, all the suffering that had not yet come to the surface from this latest trouble. So many dead, so many wounded. So many tired, so many hurt. All it would take is the death of one man. No, not one man. One boy.

Would the death of one child mean so much? The thought of killing an innocent was abhorrent, but did Sephiroth really count as an innocent at any age? ShinRa raised him to be their killing machine. Even if their intent was for him to kill only in war, it still stood. Better erased than destroying so many lives. _Or is that how ShinRa would think?_ So ruthless. Not a hero at all, was he? But he'd never been a hero. Maybe a hero wasn't what was needed, for that matter. An act that would let Aerith continue to smile, that would let Zack continue to joke, any little act as simple as one downward thrust with a blade in his hand... he'd made the motion often enough, certainly.

Mindless indulgence in a fantasy world. There would never be the chance, never be the opportunity. _Perhaps_ No, never the chance. _Maybe _Ridiculous to think about what might have been, what could have happened in a different world, in a different set of possibilities.

**Not impossible at all.**

Blue eyes snapped open quickly. That was not the usual quiet whisper from the back of his mind. That was not the sarcastic voice that congratulated him on acts of supreme stupidity. With a turn of his head, Cloud's gaze swept around the deserted church. His body lowered into a more defensible position, senses heightened by Jenova and Makou infusion sought in vain for the source of the intrusion to his quiet reverie.

**The Planet is alive, Cloud, thanks to you.**

The voice was familiar in little ways, but wrong in so many others. The tone, the words, they were not correct to be coming from the pure, lilting voice they did. Not from that voice.

**The power of the Planet is great, great enough to be able to change space and energy. With enough, it could alter time.**

No. That voice should not utter words that led to the killing of a child. That voice should have giggled, should have spoken in a female manner, should have come from a small, rosebud mouth. A mouth that would never smile at him again. One child, who would grow up to kill her.

**In truth, we have considered such before. We felt to show you would be easiest. **

She would never have intruded upon his thoughts so, would never have opened up his mind and implanted the seed of such a terrible idea. She would not have killed another man. No, she would have killed Sephiroth, though, wouldn't she? _Wouldn't she?_ Wasn't that what Holy was about? Or perhaps not. About stopping Meteor, about destroying Jenova. But not killing Sephiroth, not killing the man he might have been, destroying the boy that could be so many other things. _The boy that could only be one thing._ He'd killed a child today. A boy no older than Cloud had been when he'd left Nibelheim those seven years ago. He was crazy. He was innocent. He'd been but a pawn of Jenova. But so had Cloud. No one had killed him.

**Without Sephiroth, today would never have happened. Those children were so happy at being cured, weren't they? But... they needn't have suffered so in the first place. Children shouldn't be made to suffer so.**

Big words from a person - people - telling him to kill a child. Could the Cetra really advise the life of many over the life of one? No, of course they could. That was their philosophy, the whole over the individual. A philosophy that had led Aerith to die. A philosophy that had saved the world.

**You'd be saving him, though. You know how miserable he was as a child. You know first hand what Hojo did to him, how much it hurt.**

Makou baths that seethed and burned from inside his veins came to mind. Needles that would have left tell-tale tracks if not for the recuperative powers of the Makou and Jenova combined flashed before his eyes. He wasn't sure if the Cetra called them to mind, or if his own mind did that well enough on it's own. Hojo's disgusting leer taunted him. No, no child deserved that, not even his worst enemy. Especially not his worst enemy.

**You remember the man he was.**

Boy, did he. Every day.

**You would not wish Jenova's control upon anyone, would you? Not even him.**

Certainly not him. Never him. Not the graceful, beautiful man that had been his hero. Cloud could still recall a secret box of newspaper clippings and photographs of The General.

**Just think, Cloud.**

He'd hidden it under his bed.

**All that need not come to be.**

Just one downward stab of a blade. He'd done it often enough, hadn't he?

**You'd save Aerith. You'd save Zack. You'd save HIM.**

It was madness. It was brilliance. It was a blind shot in the dark that couldn't possibly do more harm than it could fix, sadly. There was nothing left for him here, despite what the others might think. Nothing to lose that wouldn't be in the other possibility too. And the thought of Aerith and Zack...

**Please, Cloud.**

Her voice, though not her words, he told himself. But it was not enough. Not with that voice asking that. Asking him to save her. He had the power, they said. Please.

"How does it work?"


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing, nor have I anything witty to say.

The light in the church was the first thing that betrayed the scenery. The roof, only slightly crumbling, let less light through down to the lower levels of the building, though that mattered not. Without seeing it, Cloud knew why. Thick layers of steel and buildings sat meters above the church's roof – Midgar's plate. It had worked. With a sigh, the blond's legs let go of him, and he fell down into the dry flowers that had broken his fall two years ago. Or, rather, that would break his fall in the future. No, might break his fall – everything depended on what happened now. The Cetra, the Planet, had been so certain of his ability to change the past. Their entire idea hinged upon the basis that doing so wouldn't create utter paradox – a Cloud who had never fought Sephiroth could not come back to the past to kill the man. Would he disappear, would he change?

And Cloud realized he wasn't afraid, really. _You always wanted to be a hero, didn't you? _Maybe this was the only way he really knew how, the only way to make everything right. Even if no one would ever know that he did it, wouldn't it mean everything if his mother didn't have to die, if Aerith and Zack didn't have to die? If he didn't have to become this man who covered his eyes to keep people from seeing their toxic glow, who feared to touch a woman's body lest he forget himself in a moment of passion. This man had a demon inside him, even if the head of that demon had been destroyed, hadn't that boy's – he couldn't bring himself to call the silver-haired youth a clone, no, no one deserved that hateful word – actions earlier proven that? It was the very same as someone, Hojou? Sephiroth? had told him in Nibelheim. Jenova's cells call to each other, they yearn to merge and spread. The Reunion would come again, whether or not Jenova's first body was destroyed, as long as some part of her lived on. And as long as he lived, some did. Surely some vials remained in some test facility, and from there, all they needed was the smallest host, a rat, a beast, to grow in and multiply. From there, they could be transmitted into a sentient being, and the entire process would repeat itself. And surely eventually, even the Cetras' cleansing efforts could not continue. If Jenova were to become awakened once more, her reproductive capability would ensure that it would be a slow, painful war.

Yes, this was certainly the only real solution. Tifa would be sad, perhaps, but then… no, Tifa wouldn't. Tifa would be happy this way, Cloud realized. She would have her home, her family, not a broken man and a broken world to cling to. It was more than a post-Crisis world could ever hope to offer her, and that was why he was here. For Tifa, for Aerith, for Zack. For Sephiroth.

Although it had been afternoon before, the clocks outside rang a late evening. Had he been able to see the sky, Cloud suspected it would have been about sunset, though the Midgar sky never showed the rich golds and burgundies of Costa del Sol or even Nibelheim. Thoughts of his hometown bolstered Cloud's resolve. It was not a boy he was killing, it was Jenova. Without Sephiroth, the Crisis could not, would not occur. The world would be saved, and all would be right again. Despite the Weapons, despite Holy, despite everything he'd seen, Cloud trusted the Planet, and he trusted the Cetra. This endeavor would succeed. It had to.

Lost in his thoughts, Cloud felt a bump against his shoulder as a dirty, disheveled man brushed past him, not even noticing their collision. With a shake of his head, Cloud continued on. Apparently Midgar hadn't changed much in the years that were to follow. It seemed a little less dirty overall, though that might have just been a trick of his mind, having seen mainly the wreckage of the city most recently. As it had when he first laid eyes upon the city, it still astonished Cloud that people could live like this, live like animals in such filth and such despondence. As Avalanche had said, these people knew nothing better, yet it still boggled his mind. How could a human being last for so long in a grey, dirty place where they never saw the light of the sun, and knew nothing but Makou-powered lights?

All around the blond, people shuffled monotonously. None looked up to meet his eyes – eyes he now realized were uncovered. Had ShinRa had a SOLDIER project back… whenever this was? Were the side effects common knowledge? Cursing himself for not considering such a possibility, Cloud reconsidered his situation. He was in the slums. He needed to be… in the ShinRa tower, somewhere. He'd done it before, but that had been then, not now, and he had no desire to run around slaughtering guards for no reason, especially not if it might set Hojou to being more alert. God knows the man might be more insane now than he was later. The image of the scientist mellowing with age was enough to summon the ghost of a laugh. A few people glanced up at the odd sound then looked hastily away, not caring to find out what would make a man in strange clothes with odd glowing eyes laugh while walking down the street. Such things were better left unknown in a place like Midgar. With signs of ShinRa's dismal rule all around them, it did seem foolish to incur their attention.

_There you go, getting yourself noticed in a place where obviously that isn't the thing to do. Great, Strife. Glowing eyes, outrageously spiked hair, odd outfit partially ripped up? Check. Staring off into the distance, talking to yourself, laughing at nothing? It's a good thing people are too afraid that you're with ShinRa, or else you'd be in trouble. But the instant someone other than slum rats see you…_

It would definitely be a good idea to reconsider his plans. It was a shame the Cetra couldn't merely drop him inside the necessary room, but then, anyone could do the task then, he supposed. Anyone who didn't know what they were doing, even. But perhaps it was the Planet's way, perhaps it was merely that they could only change his position in time, not space. There were a million perhaps's, but no real answers to be found anywhere. Definitely a moment to plan would be useful. Taking stock of his surroundings, Cloud noticed a bar on a nearby corner. It was a far cry from the Seventh Heaven, half the lights in its sign burned out, and a window hastily taped up in place of what had been glass, but it was a place where questions wouldn't be asked, and that's what he needed right now. Slipping inside it without anyone noticing the short, slight man was easy. Cloud had spent most of his early life dodging bullies; he was rather good at keeping himself from being noticed, all things considered.

His first impression of the building was smoke, and despite his better intentions, a small cough escaped his throat. He choked the rest of it back, and the few people who had turned his way turned back to their drinks, their conversations, their cards. Just another patron to the bar, just another empty man in this dead-end city. Cloud let his body slump down into the seat in a tired manner; it wasn't difficult to feign weary disinterest, after all. One arm artfully slung over the back of his seat, Cloud set his forehead down into his other hand. Gloved fingers formed shutters across his eyes, an easy trick to keep people from staring at them. A nod to the waitress – not as pretty as Tifa, and wearing entirely too much makeup – and a flicked gil ensured him a drink and thus a place to sit for a few hours without being bothered.

The lack of reinforcement from his mysterious supporters didn't faze him. Could they even exist separate enough from time to be able to help him? Cloud doubted it. Regardless, he didn't care; this was his task, and he could figure out a way to succeed. A dirty calendar hung on one wall, and Cloud praised whatever stray thought had sent his eyes drifting in that direction. Quickly, his hopes fell – no year was listed in any view he could see. While it made perfect sense in one's average fantasy novel for the hero sent through time to ask the first random person he met the year, Cloud suspected it would call unnecessary attention to him in real life. After all, what sort of strange person wouldn't remember the year? Cloud might have forgotten dates, weeks, or even the month on occasion, but he suspected the sort of person who wouldn't remember the year would be the sort who would attract far too much notice. He didn't need people thinking him insane.

Still, the calendar was better than nothing. He noted that although it had been a Tuesday where he'd been only hours ago, the day the date listed on the calendar above the date he knew to be the correct one was a Friday. He supposed that limited things, after all. He took a sip from his drink, ignoring the way that even Makou and Jenova cells couldn't stop what the cheap poison did to his stomach. In the smallest of gestures, he lifted each finger as he counted back on the days. 4… 11… leap years. The thought made him choke back another drink. He'd need it for this, bloody math. And he'd been one of the students who had wondered the point of it, too.

Alright, the year before had had an extra day, he remembered that much, so that was one year off the first possible year, turning it into 3. Three years before would have made no difference, having been well after Nibelheim, so he could rule that one out logically. And then, five years before must have been a leap year also, which meant that 9 years ago was a possibility. That would set him only two years before Nibelheim, though, and the Cetra had referred to Sephiroth being a child, which would obviously rule out that possibility as well. He counted up to 16, though that time period would have contained two leap years, bringing it down to 14 years ago. Some more mental calculations brought up the twin possibilities of 20 and 25 years prior, and though Cloud didn't know Sephiroth's age, he could only assume that it had to be one of the last three. That set it well, well before the time that anyone he knew would be here, he figured. It also set it at a time that there was, now that he thought about it, definitely Soldier troops, though they probably weren't as widely used as later, especially during the Wutai war.

The realization, it occurred to him, would make things much easier. Most people ignored a man who looked like he belonged where he was, and even a low level Soldier would be identifiable by his eyes. With a uniform, and a pretend errand, Cloud could likely get up to a high enough floor in the ShinRa building. The only problem existed in the elevator, he thought. Hojo's lab would require some serious authorization, authorization that he did not have. And there was still the problem that he lacked a uniform, and the likelihood of finding a lone Soldier in the slums seemed slim. No officer would be needed to patrol down here, and even if there were Soldier supervisors, which he doubted – even with as many Soldiers as had existed in his time in ShinRa, most of the officers in the boring jobs like this were unenhanced people anyway. It seemed he would have to find a way to get up to the plate and find a convenient target up there to steal clothes from – Soldier eyes with a grunt's uniform would be more noticeable than Soldier eyes on a normal person, even. Heck, he could pretend serious Makou poisoning if someone questioned him about it, but there was no way that a so handicapped person could make it past ShinRa's health screenings. The only way to have glowing eyes in ShinRa was if the corporation was responsible for them.

With a sigh, Cloud swallowed the last of his drink. Another unfortunate product of ShinRa's tampering – his natural resistance to poisons had been so bolstered that it got in the way of getting good and smashed. Not that Cloud had ever enjoyed being in that state, even when it had been at Zack's insistence. Then again, it had usually been Zack's fault. Still, the feeling of the alcohol in his stomach gave him the slightest feeling of a buzz. Probably all imagined, since he'd been something of a lightweight drinker before the injections, but the thought of it, and of Zack, lent Cloud a bit of fortitude.

He only wanted one death tonight, but that didn't mean that that would necessarily work. When had plans ever gone right for Avalanche? He supposed he had better get a move on; this would only work as long as it was night. In the day, there'd be activity in the tower; the night was merely a skeleton crew of guards. Better guards than scientists, if he had to run into anyone. The thought of boney fingers and needles still brought an involuntary shudder. Would he ever be free of those paralyzing memories he only half recalled, but entirely feared? If this succeeded… Cloud dared not jinx it with too much hope.

Damn ShinRa, and damn their society. The way Cloud had remembered up the wall, precarious arrangements of scraps and junk and plants did not exist yet, and he'd had to make due with looking all over for another area that led up to the top of the plate. He'd at last found one, but it had had scant handholds, and Cloud found himself blessing his abnormal strength. He doubted a normal human could have made it up the way he'd found. However, it had taken precious hours, hours that he now would simply have to do without. At least in uniform he would not have to bother with those infernal back stairs again. An elevator would shave an enormous amount of time from the trip.

He supposed it was just as well that he had no intentions of returning since he had no retreat plans for once this was completed. For the first time, Cloud realized exactly what that meant. There was a certain freedom in it; once this task was done, nothing mattered. There was absolutely no one to protect after this – they were all in the time he'd come from, and besides, they would be safe then. No one to worry about, no need to linger around unnecessarily. The thought of the finality of it all was absolutely liberating, and utterly amazing. Like the best stimulant in the world, it quickened Cloud's pace towards the building, freed his steps a little. This would work. This had to work. If this worked, that was all that there needed to be for him to do, ever. No more expectations that he could fail at, no more people he could see slip away from him in one way or another. Everything would be all right for everyone he cared about, and that was what mattered most. He would have succeeded for once, and at the most important thing.

But as he approached, Cloud realized that there were no conveniently placed Soldier troops patrolling the building. In fact, he realized, the likelihood of running into one here outside the building wasn't too great either. Cloud frowned, annoyed at his own hopefulness, and sat down behind an unoccupied truck in the parking lot. Sooner or later, someone with a late shift would leave the building. Looking at the sky, now visible from the upper level, Cloud found himself sincerely praying for sooner.

It only took an hour, but with nothing to occupy his time except staring at the tower's doors, it felt like much longer. When a Soldier – second class, Cloud noted – finally exited the building, Cloud pushed himself quickly upright, muscles that hadn't moved an inch in that time slightly stiff with the abrupt motion. Silently, he moved to where he could he was obscured by the vehicle until the other man walked directly past it. Before the other man knew he was being attacked, Cloud carefully aimed a blow to the man's head with his fist. He crumpled to the ground, and Cloud shook his hand once before kneeling down to undress the man. He left him on the other side of the truck, so that he would not get run over before he regained consciousness, but not visible from the building. With a last minute check from the side mirrors, Cloud determined that he could pass for one of ShinRa's men.

Cloud fixed a blank, but purposeful expression on his face. It wouldn't do to look too smart, but nor would it be good to not look like he knew what he was doing. Before he'd left the slums, he'd grabbed a box, the sort for transporting small animals that had air holes on the side. Even with the proper attire, he'd still need a reason to be going to the labs. Second class didn't have the authorization to walk into those any time they pleased.

The elevator card, it turned out, was less of a problem than Cloud had expected it to be. A few mild swears while digging in his pockets, careful not to set down his "precious" cargo, and a sheepish grin and a sweet smile to a lady secretary working late had done the trick – she gave him a ride up to the floor he needed.

The lab lights were on in the main room, where he was relieved to note that Jenova was not. Logically he realized she had no reason to be, but the thought of a repeat of his last visit – or paradoxically, his next – was enough to make him glad that monstrosity was not present. Despite the illumination in the main room, none of the other lights were on. Annoyance with the lack of knowledge was now reaching critical levels as Cloud carefully tried all the nearby doors. A few had hazard signs on them and he figured he'd save those for later. No reason disturbing something that might set off an alarm. Surprisingly, there were no locks on any of the doors he saw – at least, not from the outside. From the inside, he suspected, there might be locks, knowing Hojo's penchant for human experimentation. As such, he was careful not to shut any of the doors or even leave them close enough that they might fall shut on their own accord. Such would be bad, very bad, and ruin his one shot at this. He could not fail.

Finally he was rewarded with a hallway that led to a small staff room and another hallway, this one dotted with doors and observation windows that no doubt were one-way only. One door, however, had no window. From the outside at least, it remained unlocked, so hesitantly Cloud pushed the door open a crack, enough to let a ray of light fall into the room. It was neither a large room nor a small room, and there was only the one door entering or exiting it. The sliver of light illuminated anything of any importance, and as Cloud was about to push the door slightly more open, he noticed the one object lying on the floor that had caught the light. A book of some sort. Careful to leave the door open enough that it wouldn't fall shut, Cloud stepped silently towards the object. It was definitely not a scientific book, he noticed that at first glance.

Surprised by this, and perhaps a little heartened at the first sign of a person who didn't work in the lab, Cloud let his eyes adjust to the light. His night vision had always been good, and he was young, and Makou-enhanced. It only took a moment to be able to see the dim shapes throughout it, and one in particular along the wall stood out. Nothing else could be shaped like that, not in a room like this. The two steps towards the shadowed shape felt louder than any of the previous ones Cloud had taken through the deserted lab, and the empty box he'd been holding fell to the floor, unnoticed. He knew firsthand the sort of hearing someone with Jenova's cells had, and cursed his heartbeat for being so infernally obvious.

On top of the bed lay a boy.

Cloud let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding after a second passed. He wondered what he'd expected, to be honest. Had he really thought that the second he entered the room of the boy who would become that monster that Cloud would be struck down with thunder for his presumptions? Zack had said the man was still human, but in the days that followed Nibelheim, Cloud had found that hard to believe. Yet, sleeping before him was a child. Just a child.

A child with silver hair and eyes that no doubt would be verdant and cat-slit were they opened, a child with astonishing reflexes and strength and intelligence, but just a child all the same. A child that still slept despite Cloud's presence above him, despite the knife that Cloud knew was in his pocket, despite the Cetras' plotting and their magic and their interference. An innocent child. Maybe he'd been wrong about this. The boy sleeping before him would not have looked out of place with the orphans Tifa had been tending in the bar. Could he really kill a child who had done nothing wrong, even if it would save everyone he cared about? Everyone… but Sephiroth.

No, some part of him said. The part of Sephiroth worth saving would be saved by this, certainly. Even if he had to kill the innocent, human part, it would be a better death than the twisting Jenova would later subject him to. And Cloud wondered, in that moment, which image was the greater betrayal to the unreachable idol of the newspaper clippings in the box under Cloud's bed? The man with no sanity in his eyes and no shred of his former brilliance, a monster puppet to another monster, or this helpless boy that could be killed with just one stab?

His eyes closed in that moment, Cloud failed to see the tiniest palpitation of the boy's eyelids. It wasn't until he noticed the faintest shine of green from them that he was wrenched abruptly from his thoughts. All his plans, all his pain, all this ruined by careless timing and over thinking things. Cursing his stupidity, Cloud tightened his fist around the knife that remained concealed by his pocket, not moving from his spot. He could do the deed right now. He could keep the boy - Sephiroth, some part of his mind insisted, as he still refused to attach the name to the silver haired youth before him – quiet long enough for him to die. Certainly the interruption meant nothing. Nothing at all. So why couldn't he move? Frozen to the spot, Cloud was unable to either move to hide himself or to finish the unthinkable deed.

"Who are you?" Three words that made his fingers tighten on the hilt of the blade. Three words that wanted an answer that Cloud could not, would not give. Something in his pause, however, gave the wrong signal.

"You, you're not a lab assistant, so why would you be here?" Cloud's throat felt dry, he couldn't swallow. He settled for the truth, even if it was not the truth as Sephiroth would perceive it to be.

"I'm here to – to take you out of here." All true, in the fashion he meant. He hadn't the heart to say anything else, but the look he saw in the glowing green eyes stilled his resolve and scattered his decision. His fingers refused to release the knife, stuck in a deaths grip around it. They were stiff as he pulled them off. He could not kill this boy, regardless of what it would mean.

Once a failure, always a failure. Was there anything Cloud could do right at all? He could not bear to think of himself at this moment. How could he have come all this way, done all this and not been able to carry it out? He'd killed men before. He'd killed _this_ man before! Several times, for that matter. Why was it so damnably hard to do this with those eyes looking at him?

"You're not lying, are you?" Sephiroth's voice was hesitant, as if afraid that the answer would not be the one he hoped for. Cloud shook his head, unable to work his voice at that moment. He could find nothing to say as the boy rose, and changed quickly into a pair of white pants and a white shirt, both nondescript but so disturbingly simple and clean that it was obvious that they were lab garb of some sort. Had he nothing more normal to wear, or did he simply not even know what was a more normal sort of attire?

"Let's go."

Author's notes:

1: I know some people liked the awkward, halting style of the first chapter, but if I wrote like that for as many words as this story will probably be, I might just fall over dead on my keyboard. Now, some of that style is just how I write, as you can see from this one, but I usually like prologues to be a little different from the rest of the story, too. This one's short just because I told myself I'd end it at a specific spot, so rather than drag out something I felt didn't have to be, I just made it short and ended it where I'd originally intended. It just seemed much cleaner to break here.

2: Pardon me if Cloud's trick with the calendar seems not particularly feasible. I'm certain that, given enough time, some alcohol, my fingers, and the ability to remember how many days are in a year (I swear, for a moment I had to IM someone and ask if it was 356 or 365!), I could probably do the same. I actually managed to do the counts, though I then checked them against my computer clock, because I'm just so bad with dates I couldn't be sure. It seems a neat party trick, when you think about it. For the record, I'm setting Sephiroth's age during AC as being 31, making this 20 years prior, and him 11. Simple, easy numbers. I tried so hard to come up with a feasible timeline for FFVII, though it really just defies timelines, I think. I am, for whatever it matters, setting the Wutai war as starting 13 years before the game (making Aerith about 10ish when Elmyra finds her) and ending about 7 years before (meaning that Zack was probably in it for a year or so, long enough that there would still be substantial demand for Soldiers, but that he wouldn't have been in for long).

3: Poor Cloud. I feel so awful about this chapter and the one before it. I think I might just give him a couple of happy chapters. Would that ruin the fic? I like fluff as much as the next person, perhaps a wee bit more. Especially with Cloud. He's just so damn cute. Speaking of him, when did he hijack this fic? It was not going to be a Cloud fic originally, but I think it's turned into one! And yes, the poor boy hasn't thought a few things through, since he does contradict himself a few times.

4: This may look fairly flat, like you can tell where it's going. Especially with me saying I'm going to throw in some cute happy moments. But I've got other plans. I don't know why, I don't mind happy endings, but a happy feel good story all the way through annoys me. I like the ups more if there are downs. And so there shall certainly be some.

5: Since some people mentioned the Cetra's manipulation... yes, that was entirely intentional. The Cetra, in my mind, are something between a cross between the Jedi from Star Wars and the Soarers from LE Modesett's Corean novels. I didn't actually read the latter until a month ago, but I was sort of "AHA!" while reading it. The Cetra, they are manipulative, but they honestly feel that they are doing the right thing. It's not just a justification thing, either - they're not bad, nor are they mean. Buta person's needs are outweighed by the Planet's.


End file.
